


Grounding Technique

by ifallonblackdays_fics



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: All-powerful Magnus Bane, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 18:17:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12281892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifallonblackdays_fics/pseuds/ifallonblackdays_fics
Summary: Hyperacusis: An increased sensitivity to certain frequency and volume ranges of sound, a collapsed tolerance to usual environmental sound.Set immediately after 2x15. Magnus' PTSD is still acting up. Alec is there to ground him.





	Grounding Technique

**Author's Note:**

> I really like how the show dealt with Magnus' PTSD. As a PTSD sufferer myself, it was very relatable. Hyperacusis is one of the symptoms of PTSD. After it decided to pay me a visit yesterday, I decided to exorcise the experience through this little story. The technique Alec uses here is a grounding technique PTSD sufferers (or anyone who's experiencing an anxious episode) can turn to in order to bring themselves back.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Hyperacusis. PTSD symptoms.

Magnus isn’t sure what the trigger was. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything—the sleep deprivation, the taut muscles and jumbled nerves, the rawness of an overworked brain and a naked heart. All he knows is that the sounds are driving him crazy.

The noise of traffic is muffled up here, but it somehow sounds like distant thunder to him, announcing a storm that he really should have seen coming, because gods and angels and devils know he’s been dealing with this for enough of a long time. A garbage truck screeches and crunches somewhere in the street below. The sound of trashcans being upturned and cans and bottles falling into the truck’s bed is like the sound of armies fighting. A honk horns, and it sounds like war sirens.

Magnus wishes magicking the whole loft to be soundproof for one night was the answer, but it isn’t. Because the sounds from within the apartment are also getting to him. Alec shifts in his sleep next to him, long limbs stretching out, and the rustling of silk sheets sounds like monsoon winds blowing through palm trees.

Magnus gets out of bed and makes a beeline for the living room—away from Alec, before he can take it out on him. Before he can wake him up only to stare at him in silence, with no clue whatsoever as to what the correct words are to ask for help.

He just stands there in the dark, the lights of the city as the only source of illumination making shadows jump out at him. He longs for a drink to burn his throat and numb his ears, but he doesn’t dare pour it; he probably wouldn’t be able to deal with the clinking of glasses anyway. On the coffee table, the potion he left to simmer overnight is bubbling away diligently in its little pot. It sounds like lava boiling.

Magnus clenches his fists at his sides and digs his fingernails deep into his palms, hoping against hope that the sting will bring him back and dim his senses into average, tolerable sharpness. His brain feels heavy inside his skull—leaden and sluggish and yet too eager, too hungry for stimuli to blow out of proportion.

Another truck drives by outside, transporting something metal that makes a racket that can be heard even from this height as the cargo clangs and rattles during transport. To Magnus, it sounds like a stampede of galloping steel horses, and he can’t take it. He just can’t. Everything is too loud and is hurting his ears and his brain and his nerves. Sounds scrape against his body like sandpaper. He’d tear off his skin if he could, fling the sounds away from him.

And the potion is bubbling, bubbling, and it sounds like lava and Magnus _can’t.take.it._

Red magic slams into the offending object. The pot explodes with a spectacular boom, and Magnus barely has the time to realize he did not think this through, before that blare assaults his ears like lightning cracking in his very skull and the magic takes over.

There are clangs and snaps and crashes and minor explosions, but Magnus doesn’t hear any of it. He doesn’t hear anything past the whooshing sound of magic rushing through his ears like blood, and that’s a sound he welcomes—because it’s _his_ sound, and it drowns out everything else. It burns his veins and numbs his ears, and Magnus lets it take him away, lets it scoop him up and whisk him off into a high he never wants to come down from.

“MAGNUS!”

Until Alec’s voice comes. By the time Magnus registers it, it’s rough and scratchy and overused, and he knows Alec must have been calling his name for a while.

“Magnus, stop!”

There’s something in Alec’s voice that somehow manages to reach him, to touch the edge of his consciousness in a way that’s not strident or intrusive and actually makes him want to reach out, but he doesn’t know how to. He’s not even sure he should; there’s sound where Alec is, and Magnus thinks he’s probably better off here, with only the roar of magic in his ears.

“Magnus!”

There’s a pained grunt, and something in Magnus’ perfect, raucous, noise-drowning mechanism jams. Because so help him, if he’s hurt Alexander. So help him, if his demons have finally made a monster out of him.

“Magnus, enough. Come back to me.”

Alec sounds somewhat calmer now, but his voice still snaps Magnus out of it like a whip crack.

“Alexander…”

Magnus’ eyes are wide and wild. Everything around him is both spinning and standing still. He feels feral and disconnected, and he just doesn’t know how to get back, doesn’t know if he wants to.

“Magnus, breathe.”

Breathe? Is he not breathing?

There’s fire in his veins, and his ears are still roaring with magic, and… He’s right. Alec’s right. Magnus can’t breathe.

“Hey.” There’s a cool, firm touch on the back of his neck. Like iron. Like an anchor. “Look at me. Magnus, _look_ at me.”

Magnus does. Or tries to. He sees Alec’s face, but he can’t focus on it. It’s like he’s staring at the figure of his boyfriend standing in front of him through someone else’s eyes.

“Hey,” Alec says again, and he tightens his hold on Magnus’ nape. “Focus. Breathe with me.”

“I can’t…”

“ _Yes_ , you can.” Alec spits the words out like he’s daring the world to say otherwise. “Listen to me. Look around you. Tell me five things you see.”

_What?_

“Just do it, Magnus,” Alec says, and Magnus realizes he must have spoken out loud. “Five things.”

Magnus looks around wildly.

“Cauldron...” he says. _Crunched-up_ , _burned_ cauldron, but still…

“Okay. What else?”

“Uh…couch.”

“What else?”

“Flowers.” In a blue vase on the side table by the couch. White flowers which Alec brought him.  

“What else?”

“Window.” Magnus’ eyes widen. _Shattered_ window, glass everywhere.

Alec must have noticed him panicking, because he gives his neck a firm squeeze and drags him back to the present. “What else?”

Magnus swallows hard. “You.”

Alec smiles. “Tell me four things you feel.”

Magnus’ stomach clenches. He does _not_ want to go there.

“ _Physical_ things,” Alec says immediately, as if reading his mind. “Tell me four physical things you feel.”

Oh. Magnus can do _that_.

“Hot,” he says. “My skin’s hot.”

Alec takes in a deep breath, like the revelation pains him. “What else?”

“My fingers are tingling with magic.”

Alec keeps a hold of Magnus’ neck, but he takes his hand with his free one. He rubs Magnus’ fingertips gently, as if he could contain the magic and stop it from going off again with touch alone. “What else?”

“My head hurts.” Magnus blinks in surprise. He hadn’t even realized.

“What else?”

“You,” Magnus says. “You’re stroking my neck.”

Alec’s thumb is indeed tracing soothing circles on his nape, and Magnus can’t believe he hasn’t noticed before.

Alec smiles again. “Good. Now tell me three things you hear.”

“Alexander—”

“Magnus,” Alec cuts him off, gentle but adamant. “Just humor me.”

Magnus huffs. “Fine.” He’s a little terrified, but as he forces himself to focus once more on the sounds from the outside world, he’s surprised to discover that the noises are no longer assaulting him. “I hear traffic,” he says. “And…someone’s playing music somewhere.”

Alec steps closer, gives his still-tingling fingers a squeeze. “What else?”

“You,” Magnus says. “Your voice.”

Alec nods. “Tell me two things you smell.”

That one’s easy.

“The potion,” Magnus says. The contents are splashed everywhere and are sending off a pungent smell that’s hard to miss.

Alec makes a face; clearly, he can smell it too, and he’s _not_ happy about it. “What else?”

“You,” Magnus says. Sandalwood shampoo from Magnus’ bathroom and soap and _Alexander_ , underneath.

Alec steps all the way into his space. He lets go of his hand and cups his cheek, and he leans in and kisses him, breathing in relief because Magnus is _back_ , he’s back and they both know it.

“Tell me one thing you taste,” Alec says when he pulls back.

That one is the easiest.

“You,” Magnus says, and he kisses him again, because Alec grounds him. “It’s always you, Alexander.”

 

 

END


End file.
